


The Art of Kneeling (and Stabbing Yourself in the Back)

by darkshepard (helloshepard)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Brief Reference to Police Brutality, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Feeding, Handcuffs, Kneeling, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Present Tense, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Power Dynamics, Unhealthy Relationships, Whump, no happy ending, terrible communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/darkshepard
Summary: Soundwave is nothing if not loyal.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Soundwave, Past Soundwave/Megatron, Past Soundwave/Ratbat
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65





	The Art of Kneeling (and Stabbing Yourself in the Back)

**Author's Note:**

> Yesterday, I was chatting with someone on tumblr about the dynamic between Soundwave and Optimus in exrid and the phrase "what was up with the kneeling thing? Optimus, that was such an under negotiated kink scene fantasy" was uttered. 
> 
> And then this happened. 
> 
> This is in no way related to any of my other IDW fics (though, if you squint I left an unsubtle reference to one of the later prowlcoswave fics). PLEASE mind the tags, this is not a happy story.

The stasis cuffs snap shut around his wrists. 

They aren’t uncomfortably tight—he remembers the way the enforcers slammed the stasis cuffs around his wrists, so tight, grinding his face into the dirt for no reason other than they were having a bad day—but they are still tight. 

Tight enough that he feels it. 

* * *

“Kneel.” 

Soundwave kneels. The floor is cold against his knees. Optimus strokes the edge of his battle mask, and in response to the unstated demand, Soundwave retracts it and submits to the examination of his mouth. 

The pad of Optimus’s thumb lingers at the corner of his mouth, tracing an old, deep scar that hadn’t gone away even with a frame rebuild. 

Optimus sits at the edge of the berth. Of course he wouldn’t kneel—too submissive, too  _ ordinary.  _

And Optimus Prime is determined to show Soundwave that he is anything but ordinary. 

“Open.” 

Confused—Optimus Prime’s mind is a whirl of emotion—of self-doubt, of steely determination—Soundwave hesitates a second too long. 

Beneath the battle mask, Optimus is frowning. Questioning, Soundwave knows—is he hesitating, does Soundwave  _ not want this?  _

The first catch: Soundwave doesn’t. Not really. 

The second: Neither does Optimus. 

Well, Optimus  _ does.  _ Optimus  _ will. _

Soundwave pops open his tape deck and surrenders to the Prime’s clumsy, rough fingers examining the delicate sensory panels, the places—

Soundwave stifles a quiet gasp. Unbidden, his cooling fans click on. 

“There is something I would like to try,” Optimus says, and the strength of his mind ensures he needs to say no more.

The strength of the desire also means Soundwave will not say no. It is not dangerous—though, a small, fearful part of Soundwave wonders if he would have the presence of mind  _ to  _ say no, were that the case. It is simply…humiliating. 

Soundwave nods. Optimus doesn’t want a  _ fight:  _ he wants submission, he wants (has) Soundwave kneeling at his feet, to open, and—

A finger worms its way into Soundwave’s mouth. Obligingly, Soundwave follows the cue and relaxes his mouth, and another finger slips in. Followed by another.

When the fourth slips in, Soundwave hesitates. It doesn’t  _ hurt  _ physically—all the humiliation is internal, all on Soundwave’s end. 

Prime’s free hand comes to rest on the back of his head. 

And he pushes, and the fifth finger goes in. 

Soundwave’s gag reflex activates, but the pressure is unyielding. As unyielding as Optimus himself. The Prime lets out a soft sigh, pushing Soundwave’s head closer and closer, stopping only when Soundwave gives in to his discomfort and really pulls back. 

And then he remains there, sitting in his spoiled, regal glory. 

Eventually, Soundwave will learn the Prime’s needs, engraving them into his processor the way he had once engraved the Decepticon emblem onto a piece of his spark chamber. 

It’s only beginning, Soundwave knows, even as the Prime’s hand withdraws, hot and wet and shaking. As an afterthought, Soundwave snaps the plating on his chest closed—with what the Prime wants next, he will want to be even closer than before. 

Next, Optimus produces crystalized energon. They are a delicacy—Soundwave had been treated to them exactly once, when he had spent the better part of a night satisfying his first employer’s fantasies, Rabat had idly waved a hand at the box of treats and told Soundwave to help himself. 

Soundwave didn’t remember how they tasted—they had been fuel for his dangerously empty tanks, and little else. 

This time, he will remember. 

Three fingers slip the treat into Soundwave’s mouth. Soundwave tastes the sour tang of over-processed energon, the sharp scent of weapons discharge from Prime’s fingers that a millennia of cleansing could never remove. Reflexively, Soundwave swallows. The Prime’s fingers follow as far as they are able, until Soundwave, once again, gags. 

Optimus’s fans have kicked up another notch. Soundwave allows himself a moment to be amused—is this  _ all  _ it takes to please the Prime? His other masters had required so much more. 

With some trepidation, Soundwave realizes that with time, Optimus will, as well. 

Soundwave wonders how Prime would react if Soundwave told him Ratbat thrived off of humiliation nearly as much as Optimus does. But where Optimus wants him to keep the smallest, most pathetic shreds of dignity, Ratbat did not, so long as his most recent, sordid urge was catered to. 

Compared to Ratbat, to Megatron, to Galvatron, Optimus Prime is  _ nothing.  _

But he  _ isn’t  _ nothing—he is strong, steely will, unbent even where Megatron yielded and surrendered to the desire for survival. Soundwave sees what draws mechas to Optimus and for a moment, basks in the powerful, soothing, single-mindedness that is Optimus Prime.

He’s missed this. The focus. The determination. The  _ will  _ that pulls Soundwave into the orbit of a brilliant, cruel star. 

“You are not enjoying this,” the Prime says, and Soundwave very nearly laughs. Has he  _ just  _ noticed? Optimus says it with an air of resignation, though his fans are even louder in the quiet. 

Optimus will stop if he asks. He will withdraw, remove the cuffs, and allow Soundwave to leave, and they will never mention this again. 

But it is not what Optimus  _ wants.  _

So it is not what  _ Soundwave  _ wants. 

“Soundwave: serves Optimus Prime.”

“But—”

_ “Soundwave: serves Optimus Prime.”  _ It’s the loudest Soundwave will dare to speak, now. He knows Optimus wants to hear him scream, to hear the modulation in his voice cut out and allow nothing but a hoarse cry through. “Optimus Prime: desires this, demanded this of Soundwave. Demanded Soundwave  _ kneel.  _ And Soundwave: will provide.” 

“Then you must let me know if I go too far.” 

Soundwave wonders if Optimus Prime understands the futility of this request. If he could not tell Megatron how far he had strayed from his goals, how was he to tell Optimus Prime if he happens to stray beyond Soundwave’s comfort zone? 

Regardless, Soundwave nods, and the Prime seems satisfied. He caresses Soundwave’s throat cabling, applying just enough pressure to have Soundwave’s spark skip a beat, and pulls another treat from the box. 

“You seemed to enjoy me touching you earlier,” Optimus Prime says, when the box of treats is half gone, and Soundwave’s wrists and back have begun to ache. Soundwave resists the urge to spit—the aftertaste of the crystalized energon is foul, far too strong when left to dissolve in his mouth, under thick, patient fingers. 

“Perhaps we can compromise.” 

His free hand has remained on the back of his neck throughout, and he applies some force, enough to press Soundwave’s crest to his knee. 

Soundwave moves to struggle to his feet, but the Prime shakes his head, and instead  _ he  _ stands, and moves behind Soundwave. 

For perhaps the first time, as Soundwave settles back on his knees, and Optimus Prime looms above him, drawn up to his full height, Soundwave realizes the difference in size between them. 

Soundwave switches off the proximity alarms alerting him to the presence of an Autobot standing, unseen, behind him. 

Optimus is still, for so long that Soundwave gives in and turns his head, the answer to an unspoken request. 

He had been waiting for that, and Soundwave is swept up in a hungry, desperate kiss. 

Pressed against the unforgiving edge of the berth, Optimus Prime explores his mouth methodically, dentae tugging insistently on the delicate metal of Soundwave’s lip until he feels it splitting. 

The Prime’s fans kick into overdrive. Soundwave hears the soft beep of his interface protocols coming online, and he bites one of the cables on Soundwave’s exposed throat, hard enough to elicit a whimper.

He is acutely aware his own interface protocols are nowhere close to requesting activation. 

Soundwave disengages the closures on his tape deck once again, surrendering to the fiery touch of Optimus exploring his chest. It’s rough and careless, straining already-sensitive nerve circuits to the point of genuine pain. 

Optimus withdraws from his conquest of Soundwave’s mouth and stands up to his full, impressive height. 

He thrusts against the back of Soundwave’s head, once, knocking Soundwave’s mouth against the edge of the berth. 

“Turn around.” 

At the very least, he helps Soundwave do just that, and Soundwave idly wonders just  _ what the point  _ of that last exercise had been. Optimus, attempting to reciprocate? Optimus, trying out his latest fantasy? 

This close, the haze of lust clouding the Prime’s processor is enough to boot up Soundwave’s fans once again. Optimus manages a pleased rumble, tilting Soundwave’s head back to expose his throat. 

The charge is practically leaping from the Prime’s frame, hot blue static crackles across his armor. 

Soundwave had misjudged how long this would take—which was fine. 

There is something else Optimus Prime wants Soundwave to do, another way he wants to see Soundwave’s mouth work.  _ Next time,  _ Optimus thinks, and pushes the guilt down, far, far down, in that part of his processor he reserves for  _ regret.  _

Obligingly, Soundwave exposes his own ports, and Optimus unspools his cables and plugs himself in far, far more roughly than Soundwave thinks is strictly necessary. 

His back is truly beginning to ache. 

He is out of practice, but over time, it will get better and he will  _ learn. _

Optimus moves to unspool Soundwave’s cables, and Soundwave shakes his head once, but it’s overshadowed by the charge zipping through their connection. He shudders as his frame tries uselessly to expel the excess energy, and Optimus connects Soundwave’s cables to his own ports. 

Soundwave’s firewalls prevent all but the most rudimentary access, but Optimus Prime does not seem to mind. He craves the release of the charge, but most of all— 

He  _ wants Soundwave in his mind.  _

The realization shocks Soundwave to his core, but it’s not so different from the others, is it? They all had two things in common: the strength of will to attract Soundwave and his desperate, broken, _weak_ mind that was unable to function without the assistance of another’s, and _this._ This pathetic, insidious need to be _understood,_ to be praised and followed.

The need for loyalty. 

Loyalty Soundwave can provide. Loyalty he  _ will  _ provide, because Soundwave is nothing if not loyal.

He could resist—he could pull back, disengage his protocols, and Optimus would not protest. Optimus is  _ still  _ questioning Soundwave’s quick compliance. He doesn’t understand Soundwave’s  _ need,  _ the aching, hated need for the presence of a mind stronger than his own. The need to  _ not be alone,  _ stuck in a mind that so often felt little more than the amalgamation of datastreams and other mechanism’s thoughts.

Perhaps in another world, Soundwave might have the luxury of finding another mind, another  _ person.  _ One just as solid, as  _ real,  _ but one that viewed him as a  _ person  _ rather than a  _ cause  _ to be won over and flaunted _.  _ One that saw the world clearly and logically, but one that  _ cared.  _

Not in this time, not in this world. 

Soundwave dives into Optimus Prime’s mind and surrenders, fully and completely. 

The charge flies through their connection faster than Soundwave can fully process, over and over, across his exhausted, sore frame, until it reaches its apex and Soundwave feels his back arch, into the hard corner of the berth, feels Optimus seize the back of his head and push his unmasked face against armored thighs. 

The charge shorts out his optics, and Soundwave thinks about how Optimus  _ hates  _ that he has these desires, hates how he wants nothing more than to see Soundwave prone and kneeling. Humiliated and helpless, vulnerable to his every whim. 

Optimus Prime has many,  _ many  _ whims. 

Optimus Prime gives in and staggers back with a cry. Soundwave’s cables disconnect—they are far shorter than the Prime’s, yanked out with sharp, sudden force. 

Unable to steady himself, Soundwave topples forward and he has to fight back a pained laugh— _ that  _ awoke something else in the Prime. 

Something for another day. 

Soundwave’s optics reboot and Optimus Prime is still standing above him. 

“Are you all right?” 

Soundwave nods.

The first time—with Ratbat; cruel, uncaring Ratbat, who had splayed him across a desk Soundwave could never hope to afford if he worked a thousand years, as he loomed above him and  _ smiled,  _ then turned and left Soundwave to hopeless, desperate misery for the better part of a day, before subjecting him to the longest, most painful overloads Soundwave had endured in his entire life—Soundwave had resisted, had fought sinking into Ratbat’s mind. 

Now, it is no great difficulty to surrender to Optimus Prime. 

Optimus Prime disconnects his cables, re-spooling them into their panels absentmindedly, as he looks down at Soundwave.

Almost as an afterthought, he removes the stasis cuffs, though his hand lingers on the base of Soundwave’s back far longer than necessary. 

Soundwave disables his voicebox until the worst of the pain in his back and arms fades. 

He stands on unsteady feet, allowing Optimus to guide him to the door, and turns, unasked. The Prime catches his mouth in another, hungry kiss, tugging at Soundwave’s painfully split lip for a moment longer, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other at his waist, keeping him as close as physically possible. 

“Thank you,” Optimus Prime says, and Soundwave nods. 

By the time the door slides shut behind him, Soundwave is halfway down the hall. 

He won’t go far—Optimus has requisitioned him a room within Autobot City. Sky-Byte and Needlenose are more than capable of handling the commune’s affairs. 

His place is here, now. 

Soundwave looks at the long, sprawling halls of Autobot City and wonders if he still has it in himself to feel regret. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feedback is appreciated! I'm not sure when I'll write another fic like this (if I ever do).


End file.
